He breathed me gills and walked me through soft water. My legs grew to fins and since then learned to swim. Those fireflies are flashing goodbyes to a girl almost home. When he left, I waded. I’ve been wading so long. Stems began to rot, fall off. Float like a lotus, soaking up chlorophyll. The sun taught me to walk. And the lightening bugs sing to me in muted mores code, calling me home. I hadn’t even realized I was lost.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
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